Monachopsis

Chapter XXII: Haze

The rest of the night passed in an incomprehensible blur. I don't remember most of it; flashes of passing trees, snippets of muffled conversation between Sam and Dean.

I didn't feel much that night. Not pain, or denial, or anger. Mostly just numb. A shrouding veil of surreality that protected my mind from the trauma it had endured. I recall flashes of blood, dead bodies, and the passionate burning of gasoline flames. Other than that, almost nothing.

I knew my mother was dead.

The fact hammered in my skull like it was being secured with a jackhammer. But it didn't feel real. The reality and finality of it registered, but it failed to penetrate the protective bubble my mind had built around itself. It was like only a fraction of me understood the gravity of what I had discovered in my house. The rest of me simply refused to accept the truth.

I sat in a daze in the backseat of my brother's car for what felt like hours. Maybe it had been. I spent most of the time trying to sleep, my head turned away from the window in case I would open my eyes and see my house burning again.

When I finally was able to glance out the window, I saw them. The flames. Flickering orange light filled the sky and heat sucked the air from my lungs. My heart leaped and skipped in my chest, my breathing an erratic staccato tempo. My vision blurred in panic, and I was about to bust out the window to escape the heat when a hand shot from the darkness and clamped onto my wrist.

"Hey!" Sam soothed, his voice snapping me out of my fear. His eyes were wide and soft. "Hey, you're okay. You're safe."

I turned back to look at the flames, bewildered that he didn't see them. But when I looked, there was nothing. No flames. No blistering heat. No burning sky. Only a cursive neon motel sign flickered back at me, it's dull orange glow dim and faded.

I was hyperaware of Sam's grip on my arm. When it was apparent that I wasn't about to kick the door down, he released me, and I quickly retreated against the seat. Now that the fear had gone, I once again felt numb. My heart slowed to a steady rythym and my breathing returned to normal.

I could hear Sam speaking to me, but the sheet of glass between us muffled his words. I ignored him anyway.

I hadn't noticed that Dean had left the car, same as when I didn't notice him climb back in. The car pulled into the motel parking lot by itself, the purr of the engine under the seats and in the frame my only sensation. I didn't react when the car lurched to a stop. I didn't move when the engine shut off. Only Dean's voice roused me again.

"Hey," he said. My eyes found him in the front seat. "We're stopping here for the night. We crossed the border into Louisiana an hour ago."

Border. I took my first real look outside. The sky was a black inky mass, solid with no pockets of light. So unlike how it was back home. I didn't realize so many hours had passed. No doubt if I checked the clock, it would be after midnight.

That was fine.

Not like I would sleep anyway.

My limbs felt like blocks of lead. I made it as far as to sling my legs out the car door, but the thought of supporting my own weight felt impossible. Instead, I sat on the edge of my seat and watched blankly as Sam and Dean hauled the bags into the motel rooms.

If either of them commented on my uselessness, I didn't hear it. I was vaguely aware of time passing until Sam returned to the car one last time . . . for me. I watched him but didn't speak as he wrapped an arm around my waist and escorted me inside.

The room was unremarkable, at least by what I remember. The lights were decent, and the blankets didn't itch when you say on them. Sam left me perched on the edge of one of the beds and joined Dean by the pile of bags on the bed beside me. They talked in hushed tones, and I could've overheard them if I'd tried, but I didn't. I don't know what they were talking about, and I didn't care.

Mom is dead. The words echoed in my mind like a ghostly broken record, every few seconds reminding me of what my brain was trying to forget.

My eyes focused on the blank Easter-yellow walls until a shadow blocked my view. I looked up when Sam sat next to me, eyebrows furrowed.

"Gray," he said. He spoke hesitantly, and his voice was gentle. He held up a black container. "What are these?"

I focused on the plastic tube in his hand. It was sealed by a childproof cap and had a white pharmacy sticker labelling the outside. My name was printed in bold capital letters.

I took the bottle from his hand and twisted the cap. The familiar capsules inside rattled at me. I shook one into my hand and threw it back.

"Wait--" Sam exclaimed.

"Medicine," I replied. My voice sounded hoarse and far away. Like it didn't belong to me, but to another person, and I was listening to them speak.

Sam's lips moved again. "For you?"

The voice that was mine but also wasn't answered, "There's something wrong with my immune system. It's weak. I get sick easy. This helps."

There was a pause. Sam looked over his shoulder. Dean came over, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Gray," he said. I looked up at him. "I'm sorry about your mom."

I nodded, not saying anything. A silent tear ran down my cheek.

Dean continued. "You can't go back to Fallon. They'll be looking for you. We'll rest here for the night, but we need to get you as far away from there as possible. Just until it's safe."

I shook my head slowly. "It'll never be safe." Another tear dripped off my chin. I looked blankly up at him. "I can never go home again."

Dean didn't have anything to say to that. His face was stoic as always, not delaying any emotion. I could tell from his eyes that what he was feeling was complicated. A mixture of feelings he couldn't make out.

I didn't care what he was feeling. I doubted it would have much of an impact whether he told me or not. Sam--ever the gentle soul--wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I could barely feel it.

I was numb.

Mom was dead.